


of a joint and fragile keeping

by 100demons



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:09:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100demons/pseuds/100demons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s not a particularly pretty man, without any of Worick’s charm or fine features. His mouth is too wide, his lips too thin, the bridge of his nose bent in two places. He has ears too large for his head, hollows in his cheeks, a broad jaw with an edge like a broken blade. </p>
<p>And yet, Alex considers, the moonlight filtering over his pale skin, gifting his black hair with a silvery luminescence and throwing the harsh lines of his face into sharp relief. She thinks of Ergastulum in the darkness, and all of its tattered and broken bones of stone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	of a joint and fragile keeping

One day we’ll lie down and not get up.  
One day, all we guard will be surrendered.

Until then, we’ll go on learning to recognize  
what we love, and what it takes  
to tend what isn’t for our having.  
So often, fear has led me  
to abandon what I know I must relinquish  
in time. But for the moment,  
I’ll listen to her dream,  
and she to mine, our mutual hearing calling  
more and more detail into the light  
of a joint and fragile keeping.

_To Hold_  
Li-Young Lee

 

* * *

  

Ergastulum at night is hot and dry, the stagnant air like a dull knife sinking deep into her lungs. With every breath, every gasp, Alex can feel phantom traces of her blood welling up from invisible cuts deep inside her.

She raises a brown hand into the air, studying the writing callus on the last joint of her ring finger, small and ugly even in the darkness. Alex can’t remember where it’s from, or when. She picked up a pen earlier this morning to jot down a quick message for Worick and it slipped easily into her fingers, pressing against the callus like an old lover.

Had she been someone who wrote often, who liked to write, who was a writer?

Barry’s bloody smile lurks at the edge of her thoughts like a warning, like an omen dressed in sleazy clothes and splattered gray brain matter. _Hey, hey baby_ , he croons, his fingers tightening around her throat--

She slants a quick look over at the coffee table, where the little orange bottle of pills sits solidly. Alex draws a hand up to her throat, feeling nothing but her own bare skin and the quick staccato beat of her heart drumming against her fingertips.

“No,” Alex says and swings her legs off the couch, blankets slithering down onto the ground. “Not tonight.”

The floor is cool against her bare feet, quiet even as she slips across the old squeaky boards. There’s no need to keep the noise down, with Worick away with a client and Nico…

Alex pauses at the doorway, at the sliver of light filtering through the narrow space between the frame and the door itself. It cuts across the floor weakly before surrendering to the night and fading away.

Her fingers twine around the doorknob and twist it open before she can give it too much thought. She ghosts up the stairs quickly, softly, steadying herself with a hand on the ashy, yellowed walls. The sticky door leading to the rooftop just needs a little bit of weight before it swings open with a pained groan, a sudden gust of wind throwing her hair into disarray and tossing it into her eyes.

Alex spits a strand of hair out, stumbling onto the roof. There are small jagged rocks underfoot, pressing uncomfortably on her naked soles. Alex hisses, then looks around hastily around her. It’s empty, populated only by thin shadows and bird droppings. Along one edge, Alex spies a small ash tray, half-filled with old cigarette butts, the kind that Worick likes to smoke, lighting each one up in quick succession when he’s thinking over something, until there’s a never-dissipating wreath of gray smoke crowning his head.

“Ah,” Alex sighs, crossing her arms across her chest. “I don’t know what I expected, really.” She makes her way over to the edge, setting herself down by the ash tray. There’s an empty bottle of beer filled with ash and more cigarette butts, bottle caps littering the ground all around it.

Beyond and below her, the rest of Ergastulum stretches for as far as her eye can see, the rooftops ragged and sharp, like terrible fangs rising into the night. The starlight does nothing to soften the harsh beauty of Ergastulum slumbering, bringing a cold gleam to the metal spikes adorning the chimney across the street. Far away, in the busier districts, Alex spies glimpses of flashing neon lights decorating the cabarets and if she strains her ears, she might even be able to hear the faintest strains of music, the brassy bold sound of a trumpet wailing.

There’s a jerk on her shoulder and Alex teeters back, catching a blurry glimpse of two hands, two flashing black eyes, before she falls backwards. Her head collides with something immovable, blue lights arcing across her vision.

“Mmf--!” she cries, struggling wildly, kicking and clawing out. Not again, she would _never_ \--

Alex hits the ground, hard, and she dazedly kicks out one more time before her head catches up with the rest of her sore body. “What--?”

Nicolas looks down at her, his mouth twisted into a silent, angry snarl. Black brows like daggers snap over his narrow eyes, a massive shadow looming over her with cold judgement. The only bit of color on him is the uneven red mark blooming on his left cheek, slowly welling up with blood.

“Oh,” Alex says, blank. She looks down at her fingers, catches sight of the dark liquid dripping from her fingernails. “Oh, _Nico_ ,” she starts and jumps up to her feet right away, reaching up toward him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says, forcing her fingers to fumble haphazardly through. _Sorry, sorry, sorry_ , she signs over and over again, one of the few she’s picked up over the past few weeks. _Sorry, please sign again_ , whenever Nicolas hurries through a new word or phrase too quick for Alex’s eyes to catch or for her fingers to follow.

He looks down at her, silently, his face unchanged, but does not draw away.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says again, quiet, and forces her fingers to hush, curling into tight fists at her sides. “You just scared me, that’s all. Would you mind?” This time, she tugs at his shirt sleeve, rolled up messily all the way up past his elbows and points downward.

“Sit?” she asks, making sure that he sees her face clearly, no matter how much she wants to turn away.

He blinks once, slowly, his mouth closing into a thin line. A heartbeat, then two. Nicolas sits, folding his legs underneath him with a sudden, leonine grace. Alex nearly falls down again, still clutching tightly at his shirt and manages to wedge herself into the narrow space between the rooftop edge and Nico’s knees.

She picks at the hem of her nightshirt, testing the strength of the fabric. There’s a hole, which makes it easier. She grunts for a moment, then tears a narrow strip off at the edge, folding it into a neat square.

“I know it’s not the cleanest thing in the world, but I hope Nina won’t mind. It’s just to stop the bleeding, until you can get inside to wash and clean it properly.” The words fall like pebbles from her senseless lips, tumbling around the rooftop awkwardly and without any grace.

Alex reaches up with the makeshift bandage and holds it up in the air. “Just for a few minutes, okay?” she asks and Nicolas nods once, gravely.

She can feel the warmth of his skin even through the layered cotton, the fabric turning damp underneath her skin. The end of his black hair falls just short of her hand, his eyes fluttering closed. This close, she can count the lashes of his eyes, watch the steady rise and fall of his chest, study the way the shadows of his collarbones change with each quiet breath. He’s not a particularly pretty man, without any of Worick’s charm or fine features. His mouth is too wide, his lips too thin, the bridge of his nose bent in two places. He has ears too large for his head, hollows in his cheeks, a broad jaw with an edge like a broken blade.

And yet, Alex considers, the moonlight filtering over his pale skin, gifting his black hair with a silvery luminescence and throwing the harsh lines of his face into sharp relief. She thinks of Ergastulum in the darkness, and all of its tattered and broken bones of stone.

Reaching out with her other hand, she brushes his shoulder, just once.

One eye slowly drifts open.

“Nicolas, why did you grab me?”

She starts to draw her hand away, the bloody wet one holding the bandage, but his fingers come up and tangle loosely around her wrist. His sword calluses scrape at the tender soft skin, brushing over faint blue veins.

“Jump,” he says, simply.

Alex thinks back to her legs, swinging over the edge of the rooftop, the trembling whisper of music calling her at the very edge of her hearing. She remembers leaning forward, looking down at the city beneath her, as if she could will the trumpet into becoming louder if she only moved just a touch closer.

“Oh,” Alex breathes. “You thought I was going to…”

Nicolas doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything else but stare at her with those black eyes, waiting for her to speak.

“I wouldn’t, not here,” Alex whispers, the corners of her eyes stinging with a fierce heat, and she can’t help but think of one dark alleyway below, like a dark streak of ash across the cobblestone streets. Physically, she’s only moved just a few meters, maybe twenty, thirty steps from Barry’s alley to the apartment in the building across.

“I have so much more, now,” she cries. She’s not sure who moves first, her or Nico, but she finds herself pressed against his chest again, that same immovable, implacable wall that she collided wildly against before.

This time, she curls up against his warmth and doesn’t let go.


End file.
